May The Road Rise Up To Meet You
by meteoritecrater
Summary: Santana, Kurt  gen . Spoilers for 2x08: Furt. Mentions of Brittany/Santana and Brittany/Artie.


Santana's feet take her over to Kurt, and she watches him try to fit the contents of his locker into an impractically small bag. She spares a few seconds to lust after the leather in his hands, then leans forward and takes a few of the teetering books from him. He jumps back into the locker, turning so fast the books would have fallen if he were still holding them. Santana's face twists. "It's only me, Hummel."

"Santana," he says, shifting warily when he doesn't see Brittany next to her. He still looks relieved, and Santana is at once concerned and a little jealous that he finds someone else in the school more intimidating than he finds her.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Santana asks him, and he looks behind her pointedly. Santana's eyes narrow, daring him to put words to the thought of asking it back.

"Mercedes is currently not speaking to me," he says stiffly, instead.

Santana tries not to let her sympathy show, but damn it, she knows all too well how that feels. Instead of platitudes like 'she'll come round' or 'it's only because she loves you too much to let you go without a fight' she hoists the books in her arms and asks, "You just going to stand there, or are we gonna take this shit somewhere?"

"My car's this way," he says, running a nervous finger along the seam of his jacket before plucking the keys out of his pocket. His eyes are dark and there's a deep-seated fear in them as he searches her face, and Santana fights to keep her expression from softening too far. "Thank you for the help."

Santana shrugs, and she starts towards the car park without looking to see if Kurt is following her. The lack of explanation or conversation is obviously unnerving to him; he keeps shifting the bag in his grip and looking at her every so often as though he's hoping for her to interrupt the awkward silence, but she lets it drag on. There's frost coating the grass outside, and the cold hits the both of them as soon as the doors open. Kurt shivers, drawing his jacket closer and holding his bag awkwardly in both arms to alleviate the weight of it. Santana glances sidelong at him, and through the cloud of her breath she thinks that he seems very young, and very small, and very unhappy.

"Brittany's going to miss you," she says abruptly, as they get to his car. He looks at her with his eyebrows raised as if to say, 'You're really going to start up a conversation now?' She shrugs again, and says defensively, "Well, she is. She says the school's going to get a lot less pretty without you in it."

Kurt seems to realise that this is Santana's unspoken way of telling him that she's going to miss him herself, and he nearly drops his bag in surprise. "Well. Thank her for me. I'm…I'm going to miss her too." There's a certain wistfulness in his voice that makes Santana feel uncomfortable, and she puts the books down on the top of his car, turning back to him. He shuffles his feet for a few more seconds, then his shoulders relax and he puts down his bag, and when he stands back up he's looking at her directly. "Thank Brittany for the magazine recommendations for me."

"She does enjoy magazines with a lot of pictures," she says dryly, and Kurt's laugh skitters out into the cold air like he regrets letting it go. Santana's lips twitch upwards. "Thanks for giving me your secret combination of moisturisers. Britt really liked them." Kurt's face doesn't twitch, but his expression freezes and Santana's eyes widen. "Christmas present," she mumbles after a pause, resisting the urge to scuff the toe of her sneaker against the asphalt.

"Thank you for the waxing tip," he says in return, kindly ignoring the way her cheeks flushed. "My brow shape is so much nicer since we talked."

"It really is," Santana agrees, glancing up at his eyebrows. "They're almost as pretty as mine now."

Kurt's smile is small, but it's there. "I'm sorry I'm letting down the team," he says quietly. "I know how much y…glee club was relying on me. Now you don't have a twelfth member."

"No, that's not…" Santana trails off, frowning. "They don't need you that much, Hummel. We'll find a twelfth member and totally kick your ass at sectionals."

"Oh, well, that's…nice of you to say, Santana," he says, his tone so dry Santana can't help but grin at him.

"Seriously, though. Kurt. We'll miss you, but it's good that you're going."

"I just…I needed to stand up for myself. I'm tired of being scared."

"Good for you," Santana says, and there's an intensity behind her words that surprises him. "I know…I know what it's like just to want to get out of this place," she says, and she glances behind herself without thinking. Kurt looks over her shoulder to the figure sitting inside a red car, spying blonde hair and a face pressed hard into a Cheerios jacket. His gaze flicks back to Santana's bare shoulders, and when he looks up, his eyes are understanding. Santana's teeth clench down on the denial, and she puts a hand out to touch his arm gently. "We'll miss you. At Cheerios nationals, too. It won't be the same without our slumber parties."

"I'm going to…" Kurt's voice breaks and Santana has to swallow and blink fiercely against the heat in her eyes. "I'm going to miss you too. And glee club, and Cheerios. And getting to play with your hair and Brittany's make up. And bitching about people's outfits with you." Santana is hugging herself by the end of his speech, and he cracks a wavery smile. "Orlando Bloom is still more attractive."

"Not a chance," Santana says automatically. "Johnny Depp is super hot." She pauses, and this time she does look down, dragging the toe of her shoe to kick at his tyre. "But like, don't stop sending me pictures trying to prove your point."

"Same to you," he says, and when she looks up at him, he's wiping his cheeks. "Good luck," he tells her, his gaze flicking again over her shoulder. When his eyes come back to hers, all of it - Artie, Finn, Puck, everyone having everyone but her - hits her, but she doesn't try to hide the tears.

"You too," Santana says, her voice cracking. She stands there awkwardly for a second, then sighs and reaches out, hugging him. His arms fold around her back; he feels as frail and small as he looks and his eyes are red-rimmed when he pulls back, but his back is straight and he's smiling. "Facebook chat," she tells him, and he nods, gathering his books and his bag and giving her one last smile and wave.

Santana watches him leave, and walks over to her car, slipping in the front seat and soaking in the preheated warmth.

"I'm g-going to miss him so much," Brittany says, half into Santana's Cheerios jacket. Santana nods, clenching her fingers tight around the gear shift, looking at Artie's address in her GPS and thinking that at least when Kurt was there, there was someone feeling the same loneliness she did.

"Me too."


End file.
